


All's Fair...Except When Alcohol is Involved

by depthsofmysol



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, drunken dares, it never ends up well, never take a dare from eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofmysol/pseuds/depthsofmysol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never, <i>ever</i> take a dare from Eames. Especially, when alcohol is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair...Except When Alcohol is Involved

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came from [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mbeiv7sd3R1qzla9yo1_500.jpg) image from mybbjohnblake on tumblr. And with a little help from inceptionista, also on tumblr, this is the outcome. I'm not really sorry.

Betting with Eames was like betting that the sun will set, and rise the next day. It's the worst thing you can do. Especially, as it's a bet you will lose each and every time. Arthur's always known _never_ to take any sort of bet with Eames. Not unless he's certain he can actually win. Somehow, the forger finds a way to finagle things to his advantage. Whatever the bet was, it didn't matter. Eames _always_ won. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, on the second job they'd ever worked together, and ever since, he'd avoided the subject. Everyone tended to be better off that way, he constantly reminded himself.

What he couldn't understand was _why_ Ariadne had sent him an email asking him _where_ he'd gotten the fuzzy pink bunny slippers, and the pink sweater. Arthur didn't _own_ bunny slippers, let alone pink ones, and the last time he checked, he didn't own a pink sweater either. He didn't have anything against the colour, or men who tended to wear it. He just preferred the more earthy tones – green, brown, blue, and red.

It had to have been a joke, some sort of prank Eames had set her up to play on him, or something. There was no way it was real. He would have _remembered_ something like that. Definitely, would have remembered walking around in _bunny_ slippers and a sweater.

Shaking his head, he grabbed the mug of coffee on the table next to him, and was about to take another sip, when he read the subject of the next email. Had he not already had one cup of coffee, he might have actually dropped the mug, staring at the sender, and the fact that they were _congratulating_ him on, as it was put, 'rocking out the bunny slippers'. It was a nightmare. A full, fledge, blown out of control, _nightmare_. And one, Arthur was certain, that came from the head of the man currently asleep in their bedroom.

As he pushed himself back from the desk and walked towards their bedroom, feeling his tight control slowly slipping with each step, he knew, _knew_ he was going to kill Eames. No ifs, no ands, no buts. The forger was dead. Whatever had happened the night before was all his fault, and the only way to rectify the situation was to make certain it _never_ happened again.

"Eames!" He probably didn't need to yell quite as loud as he did, but watching Eames jump out of bed, and search for his own weapon, had its upsides.

"Christ, Arthur. What the bloody fuck did you yell for?" Rubbing his own temples, Eames wasn't amused at his slightly _unusual_ wake-up call. He was hungover, and the pounding in his head only multiplied tenfold at having to jump out of bed, thinking they'd been compromised.

"What the fuck _happened_ last night? Why am I getting emails talking about pink bunny slippers?" Arthur was mad. Fuming, actually. He didn't remember much from the night before, other than the fact they were celebrating Ariadne's birthday. They were working on a job, with Yusuf, and figured it was only fair they celebrated it together. As a team. In the privacy of their flat in Madrid.

"You don't remember?" Normally, it was he asking Arthur what had happened. Not the other way around. In all honesty, Eames was feeling quite smug, remembering not only the many pictures that had been snapped of the occasion, but the video as well. _That_ was something he was planning on keeping a secret, something he could use, if he had to, later down the road. Blackmail material, if you want to give it a proper name.

"Would I be _asking_ if I – " Taking the phone that had been shoved into his hands, Arthur blanched at the image before him. In his hands, on the phone, was an image of him, not only in the pink bunny slippers, but a pink sweater. And if that wasn't bad enough, it looked like he had been caught dancing. Little by little, everything was slowly coming back to him.

_It had been Arthur's idea to have some sort of celebration for Ariadne. Unfortunately, it had been Eames' idea, supported by Yusuf, of course, to turn his idea of a gathering, into something that resembled some sort of fraternity party. He had imagined just the four of them. Instead, he found himself immersed with some friends of Ariadne's from university, along with their extractor. Ten people. In their flat. In Madrid. Drunk. A logistical nightmare, if Arthur had ever seen one._

_Once the alcohol started flowing, things took on a whole new meaning. He normally wasn't one to drink to excess, preferring a glass of scotch to downing whatever shots Ariadne and Yusuf were consuming. But having something pressed into his hand, and a certain British accent floating across his ear, and he couldn't just say no. Eames was the one person he could never say no to. No matter what._

_One became two became five, and soon, he had no idea how many of the candy-like shots he'd downed. Just that he felt strangely happy, and unlike himself. Arthur knew everyone called him a stick in the mud, and that his reputation had been earned the hard way. But this feeling? It was nice, and euphoric, and he wanted to feel this way all the time. Why couldn't he feel like this all the time? Why was he always being the one who enforced the rules, the one everyone tended to hate? Sometimes, he hated having to be the adult in the group._

_"So, Arthurrr."_

_He couldn't help but shiver at the way Eames had said his name. Not that no one knew, but he had always had a weakness for accents, and the forger's was one that had him melting each time his name rolled of his tongue._

_"Our Ariadne, here, has been telling me all these crazy things she used to do while at university. And it had me thinking about our darling point man."_

_At this point, Arthur didn't honestly care what they were talking about. Just that he could have spent hours listening to Eames' voice. Had he always been this way? Or was this side of him something he'd repressed all those years ago? He didn't care. He honestly didn't care. Though, more alcohol would definitely help the situation._

_"What about me? I didn't do anything crazy while in school. I was there to learn, y'know."_

_The gleam in Eames' eye would have normally set off warning bells. Instead, it set off his curiosity. Even more so, as he watched their friend head back towards their bedroom. As far as he knew, there wasn't anything she needed to get, or see, back there. It was their bedroom. Albeit slightly messy from that morning's round of sex._

_"Such a shame, Arthur. You missed out on so much fun. Which means it's time to make up for it."_

_Again, he should have had warning bells going off in his head. Any time Eames came up with an idea, it never ended up good. But grabbing two more of the candy-like shots from the nearby table, he figured what the hell. It wasn't like anyone would find out about all of this, and ruin his reputation._

_"Do I dare ask?"_

_At that exact moment, Ariadne returned with a bag from some store he'd never even heard of. As he downed the two shots, Arthur was wondering just what Eames had in mind. Clearly, he'd been planning this for a while. Otherwise, why would he have had whatever it was in the bag?_

_"I dare you, to wear what's in the bag, and only what's in the bag, for the next hour, or until we send everyone home. Whichever comes first."_

_Normally, Arthur would have told Eames to go fuck himself, many times over. The man knew he hated dares, and had always turned them down whenever one presented itself. But with the amount of alcohol that was flowing through his system, the only thing he could think of was 'what the hell'._

_"One condition. No pictures. And what do I win if I do this?"_

_Watching Eames' tongue dart to the corner of his lips was enough of an answer for him, and grabbing the bag, padded off to their hall bathroom. He shouldn't have cared so much, shouldn't have wanted to do this as much as he did. But the vague memories of that morning, and then the shower that followed, were enough of an incentive that he would have done almost anything for more of that._

_As he dug through the bag, he was quickly having second thoughts about it all. Arthur could have dealt with all the pink. If there were pants or something to go with it. But all he saw were the most atrocious slippers in the world, and a fuzzy pink sweater in almost the same shade as the slippers. And he was expected to wear it, and only it, for the rest of the night._

_"You better make this worth it," he muttered, changing out of his suit, and into the clothes that had been provided for him._

_Staring at himself in the mirror, Arthur was having more than second thoughts. The damn sweater barely covered his ass, and there was no way he was walking around their flat like that. Not with ten some odd people waltzing around, drunker than drunk. No,he would keep his boxers on, and waltz around like some sort of demented creature, all fluffy and pink._

_When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, it was to the sounds of one of his favourite songs. Arthur couldn't quite help the sway of his hips, moving in time with the music that had filtered down the narrow hallway. Once it started, he knew there was no way he was going to stop. Not with all the alcohol running through his system._

_And he was still strangely happy. He should have been embarrassed. Especially as he danced his way down the hall, and into the main room, where everyone else was dancing, and drinking. But he wasn't. He was enjoying himself too much, and as the music continued on, he felt his body continue to move in time with the music, becoming more and more frantic. He'd even tried to dance with the girls, before giving up, and making an attempt to dance with Eames._

_In the end, it always ended up that way. Him always trying to do something to get the forger's attention. Arthur had made the mistake of falling in love, and now, drunk as he was, felt like he had to prove himself all over again. This was why he never drank to excess. It reminded him just how stupid he'd been, and how getting involved with Eames had been a mistake. All the guilt he buried when sober, hit him when his inhibitions were at their lowest._

"Fuck," he hissed, still unable to tear his eyes away from the photo, "I thought I said _no_ pictures, Eames? What the fuck?" Again, he felt more livid than he should have been. Arthur remembered most of what happened, and even what had happened after everyone had left. And he remembered _clearly_ his condition – no damn photographs. It was proof that he wasn't the stick in the mud he tended to portray himself as.

"I couldn't resist, pet," Eames explained, having wrapped his arms around the point man's waist, and nuzzled against his neck, "I mean look at you. I've never seen you so – happy, and carefree. I just wanted proof that underneath it all, underneath the suits, and the attitude, was someone who actually knew how to have fun."

Arthur never could resist Eames. Not for anything. Although, he did make an honest attempt at putting up some sort of fight. But hearing his explanation, he just melted back into his arms, and sighed. He didn't regret getting involved with him, didn't regret falling in love with him. He did, however, regret actually trusting the man to keep to his word.

"You're a bastard, y'know that?" There was absolutely no malice at all, laced within his words. Arthur loved teasing Eames, just as he enjoyed being teased. It was just how their relationship was. "Please tell me _no one_ else has seen those? Or took pictures last night?

"Mm, I know. But you love me," Eames replied, tracing circles along Arthur's stomach, "and no, no one else took pictures. Just me." He wasn't about to tell him Ariadne had videotaped the whole thing. That was a fight for another day.

"I do," Arthur replied, twisting around in Eames' embrace, so that they were facing each other, "and I don't say it enough, but I do love you, Eames." 

"Then why don't we go back to bed, and you can show me just how much."


End file.
